


just for thrills

by pitchb_tch



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Again, Agatha is a wild independent California girl okay listen, Baz pov, Boys Kissing, But also, Comfort, Cute things, Everyone is high, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Marijuana, Panic Attack, Recreational Drug Use, You're Welcome, a lil tender touching, baz gets his nails painted, high baz, high simon, is anyone surprised, v minor tho, yes I've done it again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 04:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16737097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitchb_tch/pseuds/pitchb_tch
Summary: everyone gets high as a kite in Penny and Simon's living room. anxiety and munchies ensue.





	just for thrills

**Author's Note:**

> hiya bbs. Some of this is based off of my own experience with weed because I love to self project lmao. Just like my last fic, it is completely self indulgent, but its a bit more edited this time lol. enjoy babes :)))  
> (title of the fic is from "Hills" by Kim Petras, which is a song I listened to on repeat while writing this lol)

It had started as a quiet night in. Simon and Micah had brought us all takeout from our favorite Chinese restaurant a couple blocks away from the flat.

By the time they get back, I’m sitting on the floor of the living room while Agatha paints my nails with black nail varnish, claiming it would “top off the vampire aesthetic quite nicely”. I was feeling relaxed and flushed from hunting earlier, so I said yes pretty quickly.

 And I have to admit, I look pretty badass with black fingernails.

Penny and Ana sit on the couch discussing the reliability of tarot card readings.

 Ana is a Normal witch. She wasn’t born a mage but she studies witchcraft, makes potions from ancient plants and reads tarot cards. She descends from a family of palm readers, fortune tellers, Satanists, and potion makers. And her step dad is a mage, so she has a good insight into the magickal world. She’s pretty fucking cool if I do say so myself, and we’re all utterly obsessed with hearing about her family history.

 When Fiona met her sober, she hassled Ana about her family until we all found out that one of her distant cousins had married into the Spanish branch of the Pitch family.

 Simon and Micah stumble into the flat, arms full of plastic bags. Simons cheeks are red from the harsh cold outside and his curls are a windswept mess on top of his head. His eyes find me on the floor and he sends me a flushed grin.

I blush. Crowley.

“Dinners ready!” Micah bellows, as he and Simon walk into the kitchen and set the bags on the table.

“Oh fuck yeah, I’m starving,” Agatha says, screwing the lid on the bottle of varnish, “How do you like it?” She asks me, nodding her chin at my newly blackened nails.

“It’s lovely,” I say, fanning them out in front of me, my lips quirking slightly. It makes my boney fingers look punk. Fiona would be so proud.

“ _You’re_ lovely,” she says, ruffling my hair as she walks by me into the kitchen. Warmth blooms in my stomach.

Agatha had come back from California with new hair and a determination to reconcile with her “magickal brit family”, (that’s what she calls Penny, Simon and I). Gone was the uptight, frustrated teenage girl she was when she left England, and standing in her place was a self-assured, carefree woman with pink streaks in her hair.

She disappeared from our lives for almost a year and a half. Her and Penny would send each other the occasional text to check up on one another, but other than that, we left her alone and waited for her to come to us.

When she finally decided to come home in the summer, she had walked into our flat to find Simon and I snogging on the couch, (how bloody cliché).

She had just stood there for a moment as we scrambled to our feet, but soon after she let out a bright laugh, hauling a stuttering Simon (“Agatha! I- Um- We just- “) down by his neck and left smacking kisses on both his cheeks. She did the same to me a second later.

“Fucking idiots,” She laughed looking back and forth between the two of us. “So. Nothing’s changed I see.”

“Nothing at all,” Penny had said, leaning out her bedroom doorway, “Hello Agatha.”

California had allowed Agatha to discover who she was outside of the World of Mages, away from destinies and responsibilities. She had room to discover her inner “wild child”, (that’s what Penny liked to call it). She talked very candidly about her life in the States and her self discovery.

“My friends wear bikinis as clothing and roll their own joints,” She had said as an almost explanation, “And I’ve been listening to lots of Ariana Grande and having lots of sex on the beach.” Penny had giggled at that. Simon had given me a considering look and I rolled my eyes.

“No, Snow.”

I walk into the kitchen, eyeing the cartons of food on the counter top and looking back at my wet nails.

“Looks like you’re going to have to feed me Snow,” I say, holding the backs of my hands up to him and wiggling my fingers. Simon’s head whips around from where he’s hauling food onto his plate and grins when he sees my nails.

“Very pretty darling,” He smiles and turns back to the cartons, spooning extra heaps of food onto his plate, “Any sauces?”

“The spicy one I like,” I say, sitting down at the table, admiring the way Simon’s white t shirt makes his usually pale skin look a few shades darker, stretching over the muscles of his back.

As he strides over to the table, I notice the way the jeans I bought him are stretching deliciously over his thighs. I lick my lips. Something must be in the air tonight with the way Simon is making me feel without doing bloody anything.

He sits in the chair to my left side, scooting it closer to me. Our friends are chattering loudly around us and I lean into him.

“Hi, my love,” I lean in with every intention of giving him a soundless peck, but it ends up dirtier than I anticipated, with more tongue than I would usually allow at the dinner table.

“We’re eating!” Penny says at the same time that Agatha shouts, “Your nails!”

We pull apart, Simon flashing me a wicked grin, and turning to shovel food into his mouth. I blow on my nails, looking over at Agatha who looks dramatically relieved. I feel Simon squeeze my thigh and I pull my attention back to the fork he’s waving around his heavy-laden plate.

“The rice,” I say softly through a lisp. My fangs are out. No one minds. I’ve gotten more comfortable with eating around other people, especially this bunch.

Having one Simon Snow stare at you through almost every meal for two years has that effect.

Simon scoops up some rice and swirls the spoon around in the air in front of me, making airplane noises with his lips. I give him an unimpressed look and hear Agatha laughing behind me. Simon sends her a smile and finally brings the spoon to my lips. I roll my eyes as he kisses my cheek and tune back into the conversation at the table.

They’re talking about our plans for the evening. Everyone seems to be at a loss for what to do until-

“We can just get really high and watch some movies?” Ana suggests, looking around the table for a consensus.

“Brilliant!” Agatha says. I look her up and down suspiciously. She winks at me.

“How’d you manage to get weed past airport security?” Micah asks through a laugh. Ana just shrugs.

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Am I the only one at this table who’s never been high before?” I ask, a bit indignity, looking around at my friends.

“Well I’ve certainly been on a few ‘trips’ from when I would stumble onto the wrong plant during missions in the Wavering Wood,” Simon says, “But I’ve never like, smoked before.”

He holds up a piece of sweet and sour chicken to my mouth. I take a bite and raise an eyebrow at him. He just sends me a mischievous grin and I scowl while swallowing.

After dinner we clean up our mess and head into the living room, putting pillows and blankets down on the rug and making a semi-circle in front of the sofa while Ana grabs her supplies from Penny’s room.

Ana walks back into the living room holding a small glass bong with a short neck. She sits on the floor next to Agatha, completing the little circle we formed.

“We could’ve just taken dabs, but I ran out of juice,” She sighs, and I have absolutely no idea what she just said, “But luckily, I had some of this.” She waggles the small black bottle in her left hand and pops the lid open.

I scrunch my nose at the smell, skunky and earthy, and too strong for my heightened smell. Definitely marijuana.

Micah woops and I see Penny roll her eyes. American boys and their legal drugs.

Ana starts packing the plant into the tiny glass bowl poking out the side of the bong. She reaches behind her and grabs a blue lighter, glancing over at the rest of us.

“I’ll go first to show you newbies how it’s done,” She smirks, winking over at Simon and I. Simon huffs out a laugh from beside me and squeezes my hand.

Ana flicks on the lighter and leans over the bong, placing her mouth into the opening at the top of the neck. She holds the lighter to the glass bowl, sucking until the flame catches and the water starts to bubble. Ana’s curly dark hair falls over her face as she pulls the bowl out, the bubbling sound growing sharper in the air as she inhales the smoke swirling through the neck of the bong.

She sits up, breathing in and holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment before exhaling out towards the open window behind the sofa. The acrid smell fills the room as Ana lets out a few coughs and clears her throat harshly.

“So, you gotta suck hard enough that the flame catches,” she explains, “and don’t forget to pull the bowl out after a few seconds of sucking.” I see Simon nod in my peripheral.

“Wicked,” He says casually, “Who’s going next?”

Agatha wiggles her fingers and slides the bong in front of her, tucking her long hair behind her ears and grabbing the lighter. She takes a small hit and ends up coughing most of it out, shrugging her shoulders with watery eyes and handing the bong to Micah.

Micah ends up taking a bigger hit than everyone else, expertly blowing it up towards the ceiling, sending Penny a wink. She tries her best to look unimpressed, but I can see her blush from where I’m sitting.

Micah holds Penny’s thick curls back while she takes a hit. She lights up and sucks, but Micah chuckles and plucks the bowl out of the bong when she forgets to. Penny ends up in a coughing fit, eyes tearing up like mad.

“Here Pen,” Simon crawls across the circle to Penny, giving her his glass of water and pounding on her back in an effort to shorten her coughing fit. Micah is still grinning giddily at her, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Yeah so it doesn’t get much better than that,” Ana says, grabbing the bong and refilling the bowl. “When it comes to weed, it’s about the destination, not the journey.”

I snort. I can’t imagine it being much different from being drunk. Although, I’ve heard of some crazy stories about third eye openings and anxiety induced nightmares, but my whole life up until about eighth year had felt like an anxiety induced nightmare so I can’t say I’m too worried about the outcomes of the drug.

Simon now has the bong set in front of him, ready to flick the lighter on.

“No need,” I say, sliding the lighter back to Ana and lighting a fire in my palm. I reduce the flame and bring it to my index finger, raising my eyebrow at Simon who brings his lips to the bong in response.

I bring the flame to the bowl and extinguish it when it catches. I hear the bubbling get louder when Simon pulls the bowl out and I watch him inhale every last bit of smoke before exhaling.

His cheeks hollow and his eyes water and he looks so fucking pretty.

The spell is broken fairly quickly, and Simon is left almost hacking onto the rug, head bowed over.

“Shit,” He chokes out, voice strangled and rough. I wind my fingers into his bronze curls and tug, not even attempting to hide my snickering. “Sod off,” He coughs out, but I can see him trying not to smile.

“Step back and let the pros handle this, Snow,” I say in faux professionalism. Simon snorts and slides the bong my way as I light my finger aflame.

“You’re so full of shit,” Penny hackles, and I give her a once over.

“Maybe so.”

I bring my mouth to the top of the bong and begin to suck, bringing the flame to the bowl and watching the embers glow and dissipate before pulling the bowl out and inhaling.

The smoke is tacky and thick in my throat, scratching uncomfortably on its way back up as I exhale out towards the moon. My throat feels rough and itchy and my vision turns blurry as wetness fills my eyes.

Definitely not at all like smoking a cigarette.

I reluctantly let out a demur cough, but once I get started the roughness in my throat feels thicker and I’m left in a fit.

Simon is cackling from beside me and I try to send him my sharpest glare, but it falls flat with the tears in my eyes.

The bong gets passed around the circle a few more times until Ana decides we’ve had enough and puts it on the coffee table next to the sofa.

Frank Ocean is crooning through Micah’s speakers, (Agatha’s playlist) and I feel the room slipping into haziness. My vision feels slower than usual, like my eyeballs can’t keep up with my train of thought.

Agatha is giggling and laying on Ana’s shoulder while Ana attempts to read her palm, and Penny is lying on the floor staring at Micah as he leans over her and sections her hair off into weird shapes on the rug.

Simon and I are sitting across from each other with our legs crisscrossed while he attempts to braid a piece of my hair. My hands are holding onto his calves and I’m staring at his eyelashes and he seems to be concentrating very hard on my lock of hair.

Every few minutes he says something weirdly romantic and I blurt out something random back, trying to one up him even in my hazy state.

(Simon: “You look like a prince in this lighting.” Me: “I was the one who ate the last scone yesterday. It wasn’t Penny.”)

That comment starts a war and suddenly I’m on my back and Simon is forcing my hands above my head. I try to push against his hands, but my full strength isn’t coming to me in this state.

I improvise, wrapping my long legs around his waist and using whatever core strength I have left to roll us over so I’m on top.

His head lands on the ground with a thud and I laugh triumphantly, still trying to wrestle his forearms down. I jam my hands into his armpits and he squeals, loud cackles falling from his mouth as he tries to squirm away from me.

I’m laughing loudly with him, and his curls are a tangled mess on the floor, bronze looking grey in the dull lighting of the living room. I lose my grip on his arms and he uses that leverage to flip us back, his hands under my back as I drop on the ground.

“Oh, fuck off,” I groan, right before Simons hands find my waist and now, I’m the one squealing and cackling. The lights suddenly feel too bright and I close my eyes, feeling Simons hands slow down.

“Shhh,” He’s dragging his fingers gently up and down my sides, and I breathe. I feel him hovering over me and then his lips press tenderly to mine.

I vaguely hear the sound of Penny’s voice and the sound of footsteps.

“We’re going to get snacks, lovebirds,” She says, voice cheery, “Don’t miss us too much!” I hear the door slam and Simon’s hand is stroking my hair back from my forehead and his lips are heavy on mine.

I feel like the world around me is a floating, nonexistent, hazy dream.

Simon’s lips feel wet and real, his tongue like fire against mine. The hand sliding down my body feels distant and unreal but the hand gripped tight in my hair pulls me back to reality.

Simon slides a hand up my shirt, rubbing at my stomach, soothing the blood that’s sloshing and swirling. I can practically feel it moving through my veins and I whine as Simon uses his stubby nails to lightly scratch at my belly.

One of my hand snakes up his back under his t shirt, gripping right between his shoulder blades. My other hand is wrapped in his curls. I feel Simon’s wet mouth plant sloppy kisses across my jaw and down my neck, all the way down to my jutting collarbone. He laves his tongue over it and sucks lightly, causing me to moan and jive my hips up.

Simon smiles against my collarbone, licking a stripe up my neck and suckling at my jaw. I’m left gasping for air, and scrambling for purchase on Simon’s back, probably leaving him well marked up and ruining my freshly painted nails.

Simon toys with the hair just above my waistband before smoothing a palm over the front of my jeans and rubbing his hand over my bulge. I moan with my mouth wide open and Simon sucks harder just underneath my jaw.

He brings his hand back to my stomach, hot and heavy, resting just below my belly button and pressing. Crowley, he always makes me feel so fucking good.

“Baby,” Simon whispers, so tenderly, his breath warm against my ear, “my baby.”

My heart clenches and my eyes open and its spinning. The world, that is.

The light from the streetlights below coming through the windows melts onto the ceiling, mixing on the black surface, making me feel light headed. Nothing is sticking solid and my breath comes out of me a little faster, harsher.

I tell myself not to panic, but at the same time I pull harshly at Simons curls and whine.

“Simon,” I say through short breaths, and his face pops up in my line of vision, a concerned look on his face.

“Baz?” He asks, his brow is furrowed, and his eyes are speckled red from the rim to the pupil.

Suddenly I feel like I can’t breathe.

“I-“ I choke out and understanding washes over Simon’s dopey face.

“Oh love,” He breathes, pulling me up by the waist and keeping a firm hand behind my back to keep my upright, “Micah told me there could be a possibility of this happening. Deep breaths for me now.”

He slides a hand through my sweaty hair and my eyes dart around the room trying to make sense of the shapes through my sluggish vision.

“No, focus on me Baz,” he says semi-sternly, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb.

I turn my gaze back to him, my breaths coming out in puffs between us. Simons eyes look dark, but I know the color of them like the back of my hand and I use the shape of them to pull myself back down.

“Feeling a bit panicky love?” Concern is etched into every crevice of his voice.

I nod my head frantically, eyes wide and panicked, head whipping around to try and force my eyes to move faster. I’m left dizzy and confused, the ceiling feels farther away than before.

“Nothing feels real,” I breathe out and I feel a bit hysterical, but I can’t help it.

“I’m real,” Simon says softly, “And I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m sturdy and solid and I’m here.”

He grabs my hands and places them on his chest, my palms flat. I move them down to his waist, squeeze, and move further down. My hands reach his sturdy thighs, his jeans rough on my fingers. I rub my thumbs over the inseam, over and over again, trying to force the edge of the fabric to bring me down. Anxiety hums in every vein.

“Breathe, baby,” Simon whispers, feeling my frustration.

I take a deep breath in through my nose, inhaling the scent of the man sat in front of me. He smells like fresh detergent, heavy rain and a hint of cinnamon.

I keep my grip on his thighs and lean into his neck, trying to steady my breathing against his pulse. Here, the smell of Simon is heady and raw. _Simon._

He’s scratching my scalp lightly with his fingers and I feel warmth pulsate throughout my body. Simon will take care of me. That is something real and raw and solid. Something I can get my grip on, something I can see clearly through my sluggish vision.

I lift my head from Simon’s neck and slide my hands up towards his face, stroking the mole on his left cheek.

He’s looking at me so tenderly and I don’t have to feel the blush on my cheeks to know it’s there. The tips of Simon’s freckled ears and dark red too.

“That’s it love.” He stretches his neck and tilts his chin up to place a soft but sound kiss on my forehead as my breathing begins to even out.

“Are you high?” I grind out quietly between breaths. Simon huffs out a laugh, rubbing at his right eye.

“Proper blazed,” he responds, shooting a lopsided grin at me, “But my blood’s thicker than yours so the trip isn’t so harsh.”

I give him a look at those words.

“Do you even hear what you’re saying right now?” He laughs at that, and grabs my hand, bringing my wrist up to his mouth. Anxiety seeps out of my body.

“I’ve been hanging ‘round Micah quite a bit,” Simon says between kisses on my dark purple veins, “Been picking up some slang here and there.”

He turns my hand over and smooths a thumb over the chipped nail varnish on my index finger, smiling.

“I ruined them” I mumble, frowning at my nails. I think back to Simon’s mouth on my neck and I don’t quite regret chipping them.

“Aggie will paint them again for ya,” He says, “Makes your hands look even prettier than they usually are.” I look up at him from beneath my eyelashes.

“You think my hands are pretty?”

“I think everything about you is pretty,” He huffs, like it’s obvious, (which. I guess it is. I blame the bloody weed.) “We’ve been through this darling.” Simon says with feigned impatience.

I giggle and press my forehead to his.

“Everything about you is pretty too,” He smiles and brings a hand up to cup my cheek, warming it. “And bloody infuriating.”

I giggle (Again. Merlin.) and his smile is wet and wicked.

“Twat.” He grits out through a laugh and hauls me onto his lap.

We’re snogging, and his hands are gripping my thighs and my hands are gripping his shoulders and the traffic outside and whistling wind is just background noise to our lips and our breaths and our giggles.

He squeezes, and I squeeze back, and feeling the cold breeze against my skin and Simon’s warm tongue lapping gently at my own sends endless swoops in my gut.

As we’re in our quiet, hazy world, I think about what happened a few minutes earlier.

Simon may be an oblivious dolt sometimes, but he always, always knows what I need. And he fulfills it in earnest every time. ( _Every time)._

I feel fuzzy around the edges and I bite down on Simons lip almost hard enough to draw blood. The moan he lets out sharpens my edges a bit and I grip into his curls. I pull away and press my forehead to his, feeling bubbles in my throat.

“I love you,” I giggle. Its uncontrollable and I sound like a fool, but I don’t care because Simon is looking at me with dopey, red eyes and a lazy grin and I love him. “Simon Snow,” I begin but I’m cut off by more laughter.

“I love you too, Basilton Pitch.” Simon gives me a goofy grin and snorts, his laughter blending with mine.

His blue eyes are crinkled on the sides and his skin is almost as pale as mine under the moonlight shining through the window and he’s all mine.

“I want-“ I hiccup, “I want to smell like you.” I try to say it seriously, but this time I’m the one who snorts. Simon grins at me and falls back onto the ground, fully laying himself down on the rug while I straddle his hips.

“Yea?” He smirks, bringing his clumsy hands up to my waist, tilting his chin up to the ceiling and closing his eyes.

“Mhm.” I push his white t shirt up underneath his chin and lean down, licking a stripe from his belly button all the way to his sternum. Simon lets out a rough sigh.

I brush my fingers lightly along his bare sides and bring them up to his armpits. Simon giggles loudly, twisting slightly and grabbing my hands, holding my wrists together.

“Bastard,” He breathes out, tilting his head down to look at me. I grin at him, bearing my teeth playfully.

“Wanker.” I jab back, eyeing the way the light hits his neck. It looks lovely.

Simon sits up abruptly, his forehead nearly colliding with my teeth, and I wrap my arms around his neck in an effort to keep myself upright. I bring my lips to his sweaty forehead and leave wet, smacking kisses from his hairline to his eyebrows.

Simon grins, tilting his chin up to meet my lips. I feel a smack on the side of my arse and Simon responds to my affronted gasp with a wicked grin.

“Up you get,” Simon says, shifting my legs in his lap, “I’ve got a pair of pajamas with your name on them in my room.” I smirk and haul myself to my feet.

Well, I attempt to, anyway.

I end up swaying so hard that Simon has to grip onto my thighs to help me keep some of my balance, and my hands end up on Simon’s shoulders, (which are shaking from laughter, the bastard.)

Simon gets up faster than I’m expecting and has to grab onto the arm of the sofa, so I don’t absolutely plow into him and bring us both down.

“Fucking baked, aren’t we?” He huffs out a breathy laugh and pushes himself off the sofa, wobbling a bit before grabbing my hand and pulling me slowly towards the bedroom.

By the time we emerge from Simon’s (our) room, I’m wearing a baggy pair of trackie bottoms from Simon’s collection and the white t-shirt he was wearing earlier. I stole it straight off his back and it’s a bit tight on me due to my boyfriend’s broad-shouldered-ness. The heat clings to me anyways.

Simon is dressed in a large Strokes t-shirt with blue trackie bottoms. His bronze hair is mussed to shit, and I have a feeling my hair isn’t fairing much better.

He has a new collection of hickies roaming down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. I have one right above the jut of my hipbone. I almost blush at the thought and I feel the waist band of the trackie bottoms rub against the fresh bruise.

Merlin. Simon Snow is the biggest bastard.

Everyone is now back in the living room, at least four plastic bags full of junk food sit on the floor of the living room as our friends scour through them.

Micah sees us first.

“Get some!” He says suggestively, but its muffled by a mouthful of crisps. Penny laughs and turns towards us, handing us each a large slurpee.

“Your favorite,” She winks at Simon, her eyes drifting down to his neck and flicking to me.

I innocently sip my slurpee and go to sit down near Agatha, who hands me a bag of Toffees.

Simon takes a few huge gulps of his cherry slurpee and reaches into the plastic bag to pull out a bag of pickled onion crisps. He opens the bag and starts tucking in, not even bothering to wipe the crumbs around his mouth.

I throw an unwrapped piece of toffee at him and land right between his eyes. He looks up at me and I can feel my own playful grin.

He smiles and his entire mouth, including his teeth, is stained red. The little swoop in my belly keeps me rooted to earth and I can practically feel the hand Simon had on my stomach earlier.

His fingers are covered with salt and I blush. He’s my very own tragedy.

I’m staring at my boyfriend like an idiot and sipping idly at my own cherry slurpee when I hear Agatha gasp.

“Baz!” She groans, “I can’t believe you ruined your nails _already_ ,” She groans again before shoving a prawn cocktail crisp in her mouth and pulling the bottle of nail varnish off the coffee table.

She sits across from me and unscrews the bottle. I smile at her sheepishly and she gives me a dopey smile back. Her mascara is smudged.

She looks at the straw of my slurpee hopefully and I bring it up towards her mouth. As she’s sipping, she notices my eyes darting around the room and gives me an empathetic look.

“You feeling it a bit too much?” She asks softly. I nod my head. “Yeah definitely don’t do edibles if you’re sensitive to weed. I learned that lesson the hard way.”

She gets back to work on my nails. Penelope lands beside me, her head falling on my right shoulder with a thud.

“I’ve been thinking.” Her voice is contemplative.

“Oh, that’s never good,” I say, laughing as she swats at my arm.

“Hush up _Basilton_ ,” she says my name with such emphasis and continues her predictably disastrous train of thought, all while munching on a pack of hobnobs. “So, I was thinking. Let’s go on a grand vacation. You, me, Simon, Micah- “Agatha lets out a harrumph and Penny looks over at her, “-you too Aggie. And your cute little girlfriend.”

Agatha blushes and looks down, shaking her head. Penny smirks.

“And wherever were you thinking we take this vacation?” Agatha finishes with my nails and brings my hand up to my mouth and I blow on them obediently.

Penny holds out her hand to Agatha and wags it next to the bottle of nail varnish. Agatha smiles and uncaps the bottle.

“Best friends need matching nails,” she whispers to me. I attempt to hold back a smile but the loopiness in my brain causes it to unleash. The brilliant and intense Penelope Bunce just called me her best friend. And I am incredibly high.

“Korea? Or like. Bora Bora. Florence maybe?” As she lists off different places we could go, my vision begins to get fuzzy again.

I sit there and stare at the floor, sipping my cherry slurpee until my mouth goes frigid. I look up and catch Simons eye.

He’s sitting in between Micah and Ana while they decide which movie to watch. Micah and Ana are in an intense argument between their respective picks of _The Matrix_ and _Pulp Fiction_ , while Simon is holding a movie to his chest.

He shows me the cover. Twilight.

His mouth is still stark red, and he grins at me.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU for all the positive feedback on my last fic omg. all those comments and kudos are the reason this fic got posted so thank u thank u thank u. Again, feedback is v much appreciated- I spent a large amount of time avoiding schoolwork to work on this so a kudos or lil comment would mean the world to me <333 (also come say hi @ pitchbtch on tumblr !!)


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